


Everything is permitted

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mairon is naughty, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor Bauglir, CEO of Utumno Limited, hires a new assistant. That's where things really start getting out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hablamellonyentra on tumblr. I think it's going to be a long story...

The thing is, Melkor Bauglir, founder and CEO of Utumno Ltd., rather suddenly finds himself in dire need of a new personal assistant.

The woman who previously held the position, Ungoliant Webweaver, is currently unable to fulfil the duties included in the job description, such as keeping Melkor up to date with his appointments, making sure he actually shows up on said appointments, forcing him to take care of all paperwork which needs his signature and overall keeping his rather chaotic self in operating order in addition to basically babysitting him while he attempts to run the company. It warrants a mention that Ungoliant was incredibly good at her job thanks to one personality trait which possibly disqualified her from applying to work for other corporations in the same line of business: she was absolutely, mind-bogglingly terrifying.

It is indeed a pity that she was arrested last week under suspicion of murdering her third husband. Even more so when she immediately – and rather gleefully – confessed to the crime. And to eating most of the corpse. And to having done the same thing in the past with her two other husbands. She also never said no when asked about some suspicious disappearances which seemed to coincide with her days off work. In conclusion, it became quite clear that under these circumstances, Mrs. Webweaver would not return to work in the nearest future.

In the aftermath of the incredibly publicized arrest, Melkor is left with enough nightmare fuel to last him a lifetime, no reliable assistant other than the voices in his head which speak up after the sixth coffee of the day, and a ton of bad press for Utumno Ltd. How in the name of the Void did the company get sucked into the scandal, Melkor knows not. He suspects foul play.

He hates hiring new people because it always demands so much of his time which could be easily used to better ends: he has many ideas of future ventures, of branching out into venues related or unrelated to Utumno's main line of business loosely described with the umbrella term of _development industry_. The recruitment process for a new assistant is definitely not something he is looking forward to, especially considering the fact he can only push the preliminary phases to the HR department; the final stage will have to be his responsibility because he wants a hot assisstant this time. He does not want to get stuck forever with another serial killer in disguise.

To be completely honest, Melkor would gladly just ignore the whole thing and get back to it in a less busy period if not for the fact that he does not work well without an assistant. He is loathe to admit it, but he sucks at time management, among other things, and since Ungoliant's arrest, he already forgot about board meetings and other semi-important distractions more than once. He needs somebody to take care of this for him, to remind him. He also needs somebody to deal with the press for him, because obviously he cannot leave it to the public relations department. Those guys suck at their jobs, judging from the recent headlines in tabloids.

About that.

'Gothmog, make sure nobody bothers me in my office today,' he calls into the intercom and does not await confirmation from his Chief of Security before cutting the connection and sitting back comfortably at his desk with a mug of steamy coffee in hand and his laptop in front of him.

One of his rituals every day has always been drinking coffee while simultaneously browsing through the news posted on international business portals for snippets connected to his company: a sort of self-indulgent hobby which allowed him to relax and feel better and smarter than other people. Lately, however, he has had little time for such folly, which is why right now, as a reward for surviving the first week without an assistant, he intends to apply himself fully to the task. Also, he really has no desire to do any real work today. He can afford it, after all. He is the owner, main shareholder, CEO and dictatorial overlord of Utumno all in one person.

He starts with looking through the stock report summaries of the entire week in _Global Development Weekly_. With growing dismay, he observes the rapidly plummeting trend which started right when he news of Ungoliant's arrest hit the fan. The tendency is worrisome at best; if it continues longer at this rate, it is only a matter of time before the stockholders start to withdraw. And even if it provides an opportunity for Melkor to simply buy their shares and reclaim full ownership of the corporation, he is aware that it may prove impossible to venture into the business avenues he is interested in if his stock value goes much lower. This is just the first week and already some of the less enthusiastic commentators predict his future bankruptcy.

Funny how a silly thing like the boss' assistant being arrested for triple murder and cannibalism can affect the market standing of a perfectly innocent company.

'Boss, there is a guy here wishing to see you, claims he has an appointment. Mairon Aulëndil,' says Gothmog's deep voice heavy with a Almarenean accent he has never managed to lose. Through the intercom, it sounds even more pronounced.

Melkor frowns. Appointment? He is pretty sure he has none of those planned for today, but of course his certainty on the matter means nothing: he does not actually keep a calendar to record such things. It was Ungoliant's job. For the first two days after her arrest, he tried to pick up the habit, but sadly, he lost the thick faux leather-bound appointment book he bought especially for the occasion. The name tells him _something_ , it rings a bell as if somewhat familiar, but then again, Melkor is not sure he really remembers the names of his shareholders; this Aulëndil may just as well be a business partner as a hired escort, another journalist, a wedding planner or something completely else: everything is possible. Well, maybe not the wedding planner. Anyway, Melkor is definitely not in the mood to entertain guests after the read he just had.

'Tell him to scram,' he orders Gothmog firmly.

There is silence on the other end of the intercom, and then: 'Boss, he refuses to leave until you see him. Should I remove him by force?'

'No, damn it,' Melkor replies and rolls his eyes. The last thing the company needs right now is charges for assault or something ridiculous like that. It is enough that some of the tabloids basically make Melkor out to be an accomplice to Ungoliant's atrocities, or even worse: her lover. He shudders at the idea of being, uh, intimate with his former assistant. _Ewww_.

'Whatever, send him in,' he tells Gothmog tiredly. 'I will deal with him myself. Just make sure he is not a journalist. Or a wedding planner,' he adds as a second thought.

'Too late, boss. He's already gone up. Just so you know, he's hot,' Gothmog says and the line goes dead before Melkor can offer an indignant response.

Soon enough, there is the sound of soft footsteps behind the door to Melkor's private office before somebody knocks and enters without waiting for an invitation. _Bold. May be interesting._ A lean dark-skinned man enters the office as though he owns it; he carries himself with an easy confidence which stems in between arrogance and certainty of his own skill. Melkor has never seen him before. He would remember, he thinks. It would be impossible to forget the eyes like molten gold which seem to look right through him as the stranger introduces himself,

'Mairon Aulëndil, pleased to meet you.'

His voice is a caress on the ears like liquid dark chocolate laced with brown honey is a feast of taste on the tongue; bitter and sweet all at once, lower than Melkor would expect from someone with such lean physique, more _erotic_ than should be possible in a casual greeting. Immediately Melkor imagines what this voice would sound like in a more intimate setting, falling from parted lips in breathy moans and soft gasps of pleasure-

He does not stand to shake the newcomer's hand as he keeps up the pretence of being completely indifferent to the stranger's presence and the indecent thoughts his voice evokes. Instead, Melkor inclines his head towards the chair opposite from him by the desk, glad that his nether regions are completely hidden from view. Already he is thinking of ways to get Mairon Aulëndil out of his sight as swiftly as possible. Being so affected by something so trivial as a polite introduction is humiliating. He is not going through this in his own office.

Aulëndil sits gracefully and places a neat folder in front of Melkor. The front of it says nothing save for the man's name.

'What is this?' Asks Melkor suspiciously. Foggily he remembers Ungoliant scolding him like an unruly child for accepting a similar folder in the past; that time, it turned out to have been a portfolio of a beginner graphical designer whose works were, lightly speaking, horrible. It was a real pain getting rid of that guy until one day, he disappeared without a trace.

_Funny_ , Melkor thinks idly, _didn't that happen sometime when the guy was supposed to meet with Ungoliant for lunch?..._

'I am applying for the position of your PA. These are my CV and references,' says Aulëndil smoothly, brushing away a strand of golden-red hair with his fingers. It cannot be his natural colour, Melkor decides, thinking about how again his voice sounds like dark chocolate with a hint of chilli tastes: rich and deep, with an underlying sweetness that easily overwhelms the senses and a note of something spicy that entrances the soul and easily becomes addictive. Along with the aura of self-confidence, the voice makes Aulëndil appear stronger, larger even than his posture suggests. His entire presence is commanding. Melkor almost feels threatened by the smaller man on his own turf. He is also incredibly, embarrassingly turned on.

He pretends to be thinking as he takes the opportunity to watch Aulëndil more closely. The man is much younger by him, twenty-something by the looks of it; his entire face and what else is visible of his skin is scattered with freckles. His lips are very full for a man, giving him a somewhat androgynous look; his hands, however, are large and masculine, with thick long fingers and blunt, neatly trimmed fingernails. They fit well with the broad shoulders and nicely shaped arms.

His voice is not the only thing about him that is ridiculously attractive. Melkor wants him.

'Why would you bring these to me? The HR department is responsible for recruitment,' he says in a tone which he hopes conveys how uninterested he is in the man sitting in front of him. Pretending to be bored is without a doubt one of his better strategies when he wants to get out of situations he is uncomfortable in. That was how he got out of the preliminary hearing regarding Ungoliant yesterday. That and the fact that he really didn't know anything about his former assistant's private affairs. Thankfully. He supposes that is what saved him from also being eaten.

'I could go through the HR department,' admits Aulëndil solemnly, 'but it would be pointless. You would still hire me in the end, so this way I am saving your time.'

'What makes you so sure I will hire you?' Asks Melkor darkly. He pushes the folder back to Aulëndil without opening it. 'My HR gets hundreds of applications every day. I have literally hundreds to choose from to be my PA.'

_If you want to have a quick fuck on my desk, however, please feel free to bend over any time,_ Melkor's mind supplies and promptly matches the idea with images because a spontaneous combustion due to arousal is clearly what he needs at the moment.

'Please. You do not require an assistant,' Aulëndil tells him and there is a mocking edge to his voice now. 'You require a keeper. Someone to tell you what and when to do. Look around yourself, Mr. Bauglir,' he adds and shakes his head. 'Your entire corporation is falling apart around you and you barely notice, so busy you are fumbling in the dark. Any moment now, your shareholders will bail. Your net worth is approximately half of what it was just a week ago and a quarter of what it could be, were you managing the company to its full potential. All the while, your competition is planning a giant merger which will definitely end you before the end of the year,' he pauses, then looks up at Melkor. His eyes are as though hypnotizing. Melkor cannot look away.

'The future does not look bright for you, Mr. Bauglir, because you have no idea how to run Utumno Ltd. now that it is no longer a small business located in a basement two-room which you can barely afford.'

'And you can help how?' Melkor inquires.

He is irritated – both at the incredible insolence Aulëndil is displaying and at the fact that every single one of his words is true. The fact is, back at the beginning, everything was easy. First as a freelancer architect, then as self-employed boss of the small company, Melkor used to know how to make things work. He used to be responsible for creating designs and finding contractors for building development. Thuringwethil took care of the legal side, Glaurung was responsible for finances. Gothmog was mostly there for his brawn, useful especially when contractors tried to screw them over.

From a small company dealing mostly in dog houses for rich people's pets, in time they have evolved into Utumno Ltd., the developer of roughly one third of all building investments in Beleriand east of Almaren. Sometimes, Melkor still has trouble believing how far they have come.

Aulëndil smiles at him pleasantly. 'I am not scared of you, Mr. Bauglir,' he announces needlessly. His self-assured aura does not waver even for a moment. 'This is, among my other qualities, why I am exactly what you require.

'I am also a highly valued employee of Mahal Inc. I head the department directly responsible for the merger negotiations with Valinor Enterprises,' he adds in a matter-of-fact tone which is carefully measured to impress.

Melkor stares at the other man wordlessly. Now that he thinks about it, the name Mairon is really rather familiar; before the whole fiasco with Ungoliant, he read an ass-kissing article in some magazine about the latest star of international business, the youngest son of the CEO of Mahal Inc. and simultaneously the youngest person to have been nominated in the Rising Star category of the Beleriand Business Awards.

'Why are you really here?' Melkor asks, agitated and confused now that the pieces of the puzzle seem to fall into place. He is also frustrated because despite his ire, his arousal simply does not seem to pass. 'Did you come to gloat? To laugh at me? Does your ego need a boost?'

'No,' replies Mairon Aulëndil, smiling at him patiently as though at a child. 'I came here because I am incredibly bored in Mahal Inc. I suppose I will be even more bored when we become part of Valinor Inc. Everything that needed fixing in my father's company has already been fixed. I need entertainment. Mr. Bauglir, I want to work for you because I need a challenge to keep me motivated.'

'A challenge?' Melkor mutters, absolutely not thrilled at the wording. He has absolutely no desire to be reduced to a rich boy's plaything. _Well_. Maybe in bed. But certainly not in business.

'A challenge,' Mairon repeats firmly. 'Bringing Utumno Limited back from the edge of bankruptcy. Turning you into an international empire. All from the position of your personal assistant. This is all I want, you see: to work in the shadows, hidden behind you. It will be your success, not mine, that will have them all curse the day they decided to slander Utumno Ltd.,' he explains with a smile which is probably intended to seem friendly.

'So what do you think?'

Melkor shakes his head, feeling incredulous laughter bubble up in his chest at, well, at all of this. He looks down at Mairon, the internationally-acclaimed business genius who dares come to his office like he owns it and makes Melkor's blood boil without even trying; and staring him down like the prick he is, Melkor pronounces the words very carefully as he says,

'Fuck you.'

 

*

 

Ten minutes later finds Melkor with his head thrown back in a drawn-out moan; his hands grip the armrests of the chair so hard that his knuckles are white. The man kneeling in between his legs chuckles around the mouthful of Melkor's hard length; the muffled sound produces a vibrating sensation which makes Melkor groan and attempt to buck his hips into the moist warmth. But Mairon holds him down effortlessly with his large hands as he swallows him down without choking, taking him so deep the head of Melkor's cock repeatedly hits the back of Mairon's throat. Then with a pleased almost-purr, Mairon draws back and begins to lap at Melkor's length, from the tip down to the base and back up, lavishing the underside with exquisite caresses of his skilled tongue; he takes just the tip into his mouth and sucks on it lightly, and he looks up at Melkor with wide golden eyes that have fire burning inside them. He licks again at the tip and slides down the entire length with his tongue, presses a gentle kiss to Melkor's balls. When Melkor's hands grab onto Mairon's hair, the younger man winces but otherwise does not protest. Instead, he opens his mouth and takes Melkor again, and his pretty lips look even prettier wrapped around Melkor's cock like that; he watches through a haze of lust as Mairon's head bobs up and down his length, lost in the sensation, and he is already so close, and his hands tighten in Mairon's long golden-red hair, push his head down-

Mairon groans and pulls away with effort. He looks up at Melkor, who is breathing heavily, unable to compose himself; and he smirks and wraps his hand firmly around the base of Melkor's cock, holds it in a grip that is almost painful. He licks playfully at the head, chuckles softly at Melkor's shudder. Then he makes a spectacle of licking his lips as he slowly strokes Melkor with his hand.

'Do you want to come?...' He asks in a low voice which sounds so sinful as though it should be forbidden. Melkor cannot do much more than nod his head in affirmation, so seduced he is by the voice and the touch and by those hypnotizing eyes. The younger man chuckles.

'What a pity,' he says softly, 'but it seems I cannot give you what you want,' he pauses and releases Melkor's erection from his grip.

'My lunch break is almost over,' he announces with exaggerated regret. 'I have no choice but to go back to my _boring job_.'

Melkor growls deep in his throat and yanks Mairon's head back into his crotch by the fistfuls of hair. 'You will go nowhere before you are finished here,' he warns darkly and shudders when Mairon licks the soft skin on his thigh. But no further friction is offered, none of that skilled tongue on him, and Melkor curses under his breath.

'Fuck you,' he groans and bites his lip in frustration. Then, 'Yes, alright, you win, you're hired, you manipulative shit, now suck me off or-'

He is unable to finish his threat because Mairon chooses that exact moment to swallow him down; Melkor thrusts up into the wet heat, he moans hoarsely when Mairon's throat relaxes enough for him to fuck Mairon's mouth without holding back. That talented tongue paints circles on the underside of Melkor's cock, runs along the vein and it is too much and not enough, and Melkor groans, tries to push him away and pull him closer all at once, and then he is coming, white-hot and fiery-red and blazing-hot-

He slumps back against the chair afterwards, panting heavily, and the sad thing is, he does not remember the last time he had an orgasm before this; sadder yet, he thinks he just hired someone on the basis of that someone being good at blowjobs. This is a new low even for him.

'Not to disturb your blissful afterglow,' says Mairon drily, 'but I need a handkerchief. Or a tissue. Anything.'

Melkor glances down at him and blushes when he sees his own release all over Mairon's face; hurriedly he recovers a packet of tissues and hands them to the younger man. While Mairon cleans his face, Melkor looks away and quickly tucks himself back into his trousers. He clears his throat.

'So,' he says and has no idea what to follow up with.

Mairon stands up and adjusts his tie. His hair is a mess, his lips are swollen and glistening – Melkor finds himself drawn to them as though bound by some spell; he wants to kiss them and lick them and bite them, tug at them with his teeth, taste them – but other than that, he looks unaffected by what has just transpired.

'I shall turn up for work on Monday at nine hundred hours,' he announces. His voice has a scratchy quality to it. 'Please send any required documentation to the e-mail address provided in my CV,' he adds and nods a polite farewell.

When he leaves and closes the door behind himself, Melkor promptly slams his head against the surface of his desk.

 

*

 

Mairon does show up with an astounding punctuality on the following Monday. Melkor does not actually see him arrive because he comes in late – the clock in the hallway shows half past eleven when he glances at it on the way from the elevator. He has a headache which he hopes a good coffee and half a packet of pills will heal throughout the day; he slept horribly last night and he does not even remember why. Maybe the new neighbour had a loud dog. Maybe the local drunks by the all-night store decided to have a karaoke night. He does not recall having any dreams nor nightmares, so it was probably not that.

'Good morning,' Mairon greets him in front of his office. He is dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. His hair is tied into a comfortable bun at the back of his head. The casual hairstyle should be clashing with the elegance of the outfit, but Mairon makes it work for some reason: even the wavy strands of hair which fall on his face appear to be perfectly calculated and incorporated into his overall look. He is also wearing black-rimmed glasses.

He is still hot. Melkor is too tired to deal with this.

'Leave me be,' he demands and attempts to close the door in Mairon's face. But his new assistant has great reflexes and sticks his foot between the door and frame.

'This will not do, Mr. Bauglir,' says the younger man firmly and lets himself into the office, ignoring the obvious signs of irritation Melkor is trying to display. 'You have already missed an appointment today,' he adds reproachfully. He consults the newest generation tablet in his hands and looks up at the CEO. 'Let me see. You are free until lunch today. I already postponed the meeting with Mr. Ossë Oceanborn from DROP. He agreed to see you tomorrow at nine-thirty instead. It makes literally no difference, because Utumno will not be affiliating with DROP now nor in the future.'

'Why not?' Asks Melkor irritably. He thinks a charity organization dedicated to protecting sea life all around would be a nice partner for publicity.

'DROP is the non-profit branch of the Sea King transport and transit corporation owned by Ulmo Rainer,' Mairon explains patiently. 'Rumour has it that Rainer is in talks with Valinor. Seems like they are negotiating consolidation.'

'And I want nothing to do with Valinor,' Melkor concludes, narrowing his eyes. 'Good job. Do I need to bother with meeting Oceanborn if we have no plans involving DROP?'

'We will not be affiliating with DROP, but we can still use the annual Sea Festival in six months for a marketing campaign,' Mairon suggests. He taps something quickly on the tablet and shows Melkor the website of the event he mentioned. 'They usually only accept investors connected with the environment and with special focus on marine life, but Utumno can be the first exception. You have gained great acclaim for the design of the underwater tunnel between Almaren and Aman.'

Melkor nods. That project still gives him nightmares sometimes even now when it is in the last stages of realization. He sacrificed many a night and tried many an illegal substance while trying to come up with a way to connect two lands without disrupting the natural composition of the ocean. With eco terrorists always on his tail, he attended lectures by great authorities in the field of marine ecosystems, including Ulmo Rainer's daughter, doctor Uinen Rainer, a specialist on coral reefs; he spent weeks in libraries doing research on environmentally friendly components which could withstand the pressure of the oceanic depths and the salty water. He even took into account the influence of the shipping trade routes on the surface and, of course, the changes in underwater currents. By the deadline for the final draft of the design, Melkor was a wreck.

But the result of all that hard work was definitely worth it. Last year, Utumno landed all of the industry awards save for the debutante section. As expected, what followed was a steadily increasing stream of new international clients. All employees were given a fifty percent raise and a one-time bonus based on their time in Utumno. The HR department had its hands full with recruitment. Overall, thanks to the _Oceanic Lifeline_ project, it was a very good year for Utumno Ltd.

Then Ungoliant had to go and eat her third husband.

'Fine then, I will see what Oceanborn has to offer,' says Melkor finally. He wonders if it will seem disrespectful if he orders Mairon to make him coffee. He never dared ask Ungoliant, of course. With Mairon, however, it would feel somewhat awkward, considering that Melkor is quite sure he had at least two wet dreams involving the younger man over the weekend.

'Very well,' Mairon replies, blissfully unaware of his boss' inner turmoil. He taps on his tablet, then discards it on Melkor's desk. 'Now, if you would skim through these proposals while I go get you coffee and breakfast,' he suggests. 'I will be back within ten minutes,' he adds and disappears behind the door.

Melkor stares after him before his eyes are drawn to the diagrams on the tablet. He browses through the neatly composed presentation with growing dismay. When Mairon returns after exactly eight minutes, the CEO glares at him and demands,

'Explain this. Now.'

Indifferent to the threatening tone, Mairon removes the tablet from the desk and places a plastic tray in its place. Atop it Melkor finds numerous plates containing different breakfast foods: eggs and bacon, jell-O and peanut butter sandwiches, pancakes. Everything looks fresh and home-made, even the bread does not look or smell store-bought. The food is accompanied with a large mug of hot black coffee and a tall glass of lemon water. Treated to such an unusual feast, Melkor who is used to never eating breakfast for lack of time and will to make any feels a little guilty for snapping at his assistant.

While he eats, Mairon talks about the presentation's contents. 'I thought about this even before I applied for the job,' he begins calmly. 'Utumno Ltd. is a well-known brand in the development industry and as a name, it has an undeniable worth. The problems began when the tabloid press started to include the company name in more or less truthful articles about Mrs. Webweaver. That was when Utumno actually became a household name: “oh, is that not the company that cannibal worked for?”, “I bet they all eat people there, corporations are always full of psychopaths”. Such opinions have little relation to the trade, but we cannot deny that the market is highly influenced by the society's response. In short, the client may be a fellow international corporation and the CEO knows that Utumno has nothing to do with the murders. But the CEO's wife is an avid reader of _The Beleriand Guardian_ and she does not want her husband to have dealings with “that shady company which employs suspicious individuals, just look at that woman in the papers!”

'This is just an exaggerated example where the bad publicity influences the actual sales,' Mairon continues. His voice continues to do _things_ to Melkor even as it takes on a slightly droning quality reminiscent of a lecture. Melkor tries to concentrate on what is being said instead of the exact timbre of his assistant's voice. He stuffs half a sandwich in his mouth and almost chokes.

Mairon does not notice. 'Of course, direct influence is extremely rare and we need not focus on it,' he says as though nothing happened. 'Our true concern lies in the indirect influence on the stock market. To put it simply, not to bore you with details: the more Utumno Ltd. pops up in the news alongside keywords such as _murder_ , _suspect_ or the worst, _investigation_ , the brand value drops.'

'You do know I have a major's degree in Finance,' Melkor supplies helpfully. He actually does not have a major's degree in Finances. He did a free online course a few years ago, though, and he figures it is almost the same thing.

Mairon ignores him pointedly. 'At the beginning of the year, Utumno Ltd. as a brand was at the peak value of seventy three point six million Beleriand goldeans. Currently, I would estimate it to be at roughly half of it. You know that is one of the most major factors translating into net worth-'

'I still do not see why your solution is rebranding,' Melkor interrupts impatiently. The coffee is amazing, but it changes nothing. He is still angry at the sheer audacity of the idea his new assistant is so calmly trying to sell him on.

_This is what you get for hiring him in exchange for a blowjob_ , he snaps at himself.

'I just explained it,' Mairon replies. 'Your brand value is dropping at the same rate your heart starts beating faster when I lick my lips. At this time in six months, Utumno Limited will either be forced to sell out to get out of debt, or go bankrupt.'

'First of all, I barely notice when you lick your lips,' Melkor lies through gritted teeth. 'Secondly, I think you are overestimating the power of the tabloid press. Do you really think a scandal will be enough to topple the company that developed the Oceanic Lifeline?'

'Yes,' Mairon says unperturbed. 'Valinor will make sure of this. Have you ever heard of a negative campaign? Also known as “black PR”. If you think Valinor Corp. is below such dirty tricks, you are mistaken in your assumption. I would know. I have seen them at it, Mr. Bauglir,' he shakes his head. A spark of amusement flashes in his eyes for a second. He licks his lips.

Melkor watches the movement of his tongue as though entranced. He swears under his breath when he realizes he got played.

 

*

 

'Tell me more of this _black PR_ ,' Melkor demands later when Mairon looks less busy with whatever it is he does with the fancy tablet and his new work computer. The assistant's desk has been set up in the corner of Melkor's office by Mairon's specific request. It is a pain in the ass. When he had the whole work space to himself, Melkor usually found ways to ditch the more boring aspects of his duties as CEO. He is pretty sure there are still some shredded remains of a particularly large pile of yearly spend reports in the pot under the fake fern on the windowsill. The annual employee evaluation documents from last year are still somewhere under the sofa by the window which he had installed during the Oceanic Lifeline project at the designing stage when he barely left the office at all. It is comfortable enough that he still likes to take naps on it. It is also an amazing hideout for unnecessary paperwork.

'Black PR? What can you possibly want to know about it?' Asks the assistant, never once looking up from the tablet. His eyes behind the glasses seem to be rapidly following a wall of text.

'Everything. It sounds fun. Maybe I want to employ some of it,' replies Melkor and shrugs. To be honest, he is bored. Most of the projects he is directly responsible for are already out of his hands. The one that is not is only in the initial planning stages. He has at least the full month before any actual design work starts.

He briefly considers butting into a project someone from the design department is leading, but then decides it would be more trouble than it is worth. It makes no sense to drop a new lead into an already established project. All work relations with the client representative would have to be forged anew, Melkor would have to learn the client's requirements and quirks, meanwhile being at risk of stepping on some toes. No, all that fuss is too much to handle just to have something productive to do for a few days.

Besides, he has Mairon at his beck and call now. He might as well use the opportunity for free entertainment.

'Well, if you insist,' the assistant says and puts away the tablet. He takes off his glasses and places them on the desk. 'But it is not nearly as interesting as you think,' he warns. 'Basically, black PR is a marketing strategy which targets the competition. Its aim is to advertise the competition's faults instead of highlighting one's own advantages. A simple example: companies A and B offer the same type of product. Company A advertises its product as improved and exciting. This is healthy marketing. Company B, whose product has remained unchanged throughout its entire market presence, has no features which would draw new customers to purchase. Instead of lying about non-existent advantages, company B releases a campaign which compares the results of using product B and product A, filed under _other products_ in order to avoid a lawsuit. The campaign shows that the customers who have bought company B's product are young happy people wearing bright colours. Those using the product of _other companies_ look old, tired, their clothes are baggy and grey.'

'I see,' Melkor interjects. 'A more refined version of saying _my toys are nice and yours are shitty._ '

Mairon gives him a look as though he cannot decide if he is amused or aggravated by his boss' conclusion. 'Yes,' he agrees hesitantly, 'although perhaps a better description would be, _my toys are pretty common, but theirs are shitty, so in comparison, you are better off buying mine_.'

'Sounds like something those guys at Valinor would say,' Melkor decides.

'They will,' Mairon tells him smoothly. 'Their strategy is nearly always the same. Initially, they will make you out to be the second best option on the market. Progressively, they will release campaigns diminishing your company's quality. Simultaneously they will pay off tabloids and social media to sway the public opinion. You will notice a decrease in sales. Completely unfounded research will keep surfacing here and there, proving beyond doubt that the product offered by Utumno is faulty. You will be inclined to sue, but it will make absolutely no difference even once you win because the damage will already be done. One by one, the biggest clients will turn their backs on you and that will be when Valinor comes to offer a life-saving solution: a merger.'

'Is that what they did to your father's company?' Asks Melkor. Curious, he thinks: Mairon visibly twitches at the mention of Mahal Inc., but nothing in him indicates that he feels any particular way about Valinor's strategy. Instead, he simply shrugs his shoulders in apparent indifference.

'My father finds the arrangement satisfactory,' he says shortly. 'Now, if that will be all in regards to the black PR, may I return to planning your meetings for tomorrow, Mr. Bauglir? I believe you do have the monthly productivity reports to review, I have forwarded them to your email.'

It is going to be a very long day.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Challenges arise. Melkor may have a problem on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but the third will be longer!

'There is absolutely no need for you to be concerned about the supply requisitions for the Accounting or the negotiations with the cleaning service,' he explains, presenting the new documentation approval guidelines for Melkor's review. 'In this administration model, all such matters will go through the heads of departments. You will receive the action reports and the final contracts which will require your signature.'

'So basically these matters will be out of my control?' Asks Melkor, frowning.

'You will retain full-level access to all steps of administration,' Mairon says. 'Not to mention you will still be CC'd in all correspondence. The idea is not to give the departments full autonomy, but to reduce your workload while simultaneously giving the departments an illusion of increased freedom. I can guarantee that this change will serve to raise the morale of lower tier employees.'

'And we care about morale,' Melkor says. He attempts unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. 'I need coffee,' he announces.

Like every time before in their short acquaintance, he is a little bit surprised when Mairon reacts by preparing him a big cup of coffee, black, six sugars, just as he prefers it. It is easy to forget that such mundane tasks are actually part of Mairon's job description; he seems made to deal with much more important matters, like office management and company rebranding.

Speaking of which.

'I have given it some thought,' Melkor says, 'and I think, if we're going to rebrand, we should change the name completely. You know, a total make-over. _Udun_ like you suggested is nice, but in the end, it's still the same as Utumno, a different dialect will not save us.'

Mairon nods. 'Yes, that sounds reasonable. I will have the Marketing come up with some ideas as soon as pos-'

'Angband,' Melkor interrupts him firmly. 'We are changing the name to Angband Ltd.'

The assistant frowns and repeats the name soundlessly, testing it on his tongue. He looks down into his tablet, types something in, shakes his head, types some more. Finally, he sighs.

'I take it you will not change your mind even against my advisement?' He asks in a resigned kind of tone. Melkor thinks watching his assistant's lips form words as he speaks is very subtle. After all, Mairon has not caught him at it yet. Or else he simply did not protest.

'Angband. This is indisputable,' the CEO says, putting aside all thought of what other actions he could take that Mairon would not protest against. Getting turned on while talking about rebranding would be unprofessional. More unprofessional.

'Very well. It does have a nice ring to it, if you ignore the unfortunate connotations in the popular Elven languages,' decides Mairon finally. He types something into the tablet again.

'I think it sounds cool,' mutters Melkor, mindless of the fact that he is acting a bit like a petulant child. If he wants to have his company name mean _iron prison_ in some languages, he very well can and it is none of Mairon's business. He had a rock band with that name when he was in high school. It is of sentimental value.

'I will make sure the memo is sent out to the Marketing and PR departments. They will take care of most of the process. Would you like an in-house graphical designer for the new logo, business cards and other assets or do you prefer to outsource it?' Mairon asks and licks his lips.

Melkor's mind goes blank for a second and he responds with an unintelligible grunt. He could swear he sees Mairon smirk; but the notion is brief and in an instant becomes replaced with the assistant's usual blank expression. At times like this it is nigh impossible to believe that this is the man who got down to his knees and sucked Melkor off less than a week ago just to get the job. An act so indecent hardly matches Mairon's carefully constructed, proper, calm and collected persona.

But he did it. Melkor even has proof of it on a DVD at home because the monitoring caught the whole encounter in HD. Gothmog still won't look him in the eye.

'More importantly,' says Mairon, pretending as though nothing out of the usual was going on, 'we need to pick up the pace when it comes to new projects. Currently, there are thirty-six active projects under Utumno Ltd. Only one of them requires a full designer team. The remaining thirty-five projects are simple renovation works in Lammoth which fall under the contract with the government. As far as I understand, the terms of the contract are hardly beneficial, but you agreed to them under pressure of competition against Valinor for urban development work.'

'It was right after Valinor scored the Taniquetil Tower contract. I was so mad, I was ready to work for free just to snatch Lammoth urban development from under their noses,' Melkor explains. Back then, he expected the Lammoth government to commission maybe two or three renovations within the three-year time frame of the contract. What he got instead was a bulk order for the general modification and refreshing of the entire Old Town area, including the town hall. It earns little money and even less recognition, but it would likely be even more bothersome to try and get out of the agreement rather than do the job.

'This is the kind of decision you need to learn to think through,' Mairon informs him drily. 'I can understand the urge to spite your competition, but unless it is actually profitable, you want to avoid such long-term commitments.'

'Yeah, no shit,' replies Melkor irritably. 'Unfortunately, Mister Perfection, we are not getting out of that one within the next two years. And seeing as it devours most of our human resources, apparently we need to steer away from big assignments for the time being.'

'Bullshit,' says Mairon. The swear word is so unexpected from him, Melkor just stares for an astonished moment.

'You just cursed,' he announces.

Mairon gives him a withering look. 'And you are incredibly observant today, Mr. Bauglir,' he counters. His cheekiness grates on Melkor's nerves, but there is little he can or is willing to do about it, so he lets it slide. In an ideal world, he would issue an official note of warning for improper professional conduct and Mairon would set to correct his errant ways. This is not the ideal world. The assistant knows very well that he can afford rudeness because, no matter how Melkor would like to deny it, the company likely needs Aulendil's expertise to survive the current crisis and stay in the market.

'You need a new project,' says Mairon thoughtfully. He brushes his long fiery hair behind his ear. His cartilage is pierced. It reminds Melkor of the blowjob; Mairon's tongue is also pierced. 'As soon as the new brand is established. You need something huge, something to make an impact. Maybe,' the assistant trails off. He taps on the tablet, then shows it to Melkor. 'Something like this,' he finishes firmly, politely ignoring the CEO's minute confusion.

The tablet displays the home page of the Noldorin government with news of the upcoming tender for the new building complex which will house the three main branches of the country's government, known commonly under the blanket term “the Silmarils”: the presidential palace, the parliament and the high court. The giant contract would mean not only a challenge and a steady income source for years to come, but most importantly, it would mean publicity.

Melkor knows a little about the Noldor. High President Curufinwe Feanaro who was elected only a year prior has already managed to establish his country as one of the most influential in Beleriand. The rather blandly named Land of the Noldor has, in the recent months, been steadily rising to the position of the world's leader in education, medicine and free trade. Their currency has the strongest exchange rate since the establishment of the country in the east of Beleriand twenty three years ago and many market specialists foretell that the trend is only going to rise. It is definitely worth it to become affiliated with the Noldor in business.

Melkor is not going to.

'Out of the question,' he says and does not intend to elaborate. Under Mairon's questioning gaze, he sighs and relents. 'Feanaro and I have had dealings in the past. We parted on very unfriendly terms.'

He refuses to explain further how “unfriendly terms” is the understatement of the century, or how his _dealings_ with Curufinwe Feanaro are actually a euphemism for a very passionate college affair which involved rather one-sided feelings and stuff. Mairon has no need for such knowledge and Melkor prefers not to remember too much of that time lest it makes him emotional.

They do not speak of the Silmaril project after this. Melkor comes to work hungover for the entire week.

 

*

 

Wednesdays are usually pretty slow. Back in Ungoliant's time, Melkor could get away with napping all through the day, with an occasional break for coffee and a phone call now and again. Of course, under Mairon's regime, that is no longer a possibility. Since his arrival in the morning, Melkor has been forced to read through personnel applications sent over by Thuringwethil.

'If you want to take on new projects, you need additional managers and designers,' Mairon explains. 'Since you always pride yourself on hand-picking the best of the best, I had the HR department sift through the applications. To my knowledge, only those that did not fulfil all requirements were rejected.'

'You have no idea how it's supposed to work,' mutters Melkor darkly. But he is hardly in a mood to argue or to explain how he normally conducts his head-hunting, so he spends almost the entire morning reading through cover letters and personal references. He puts two applications aside as a result. The rest, he gleefully inserts into the shredder one page after another.

'Childish,' Mairon chides him, only to come back ten minutes later with a pile of spend reports from the archive.

'No, I want to do it,' he protests and swats the CEO's hand when Melkor reaches for the documents on top of the pile.

They spend the next two hours shredding old papers. They only move on to something more productive because the shredder finally stops working.

'Oh. By the way, Mr. Bauglir, you have a meeting today,' Mairon remembers after he is finished ineffectually trying to fix the uncooperative piece of equipment by pushing a ruler inside to help the papers along. 'Lunch at two with lady Lúthien Tinúviel, who represents Doriath Development and Recreation.'

Melkor knows who Lúthien Tinúviel is. He remembers seeing her name mentioned in multiple project campaigns of his competitors, including two or three commissioned development projects for Valinor Enterprises. She's a beautiful, young Elven woman, praised for her incredible talent and intuition. She made it to the position of Project Coordinator in her father's company before her twenty-fifth birthday and since then Doriath's influence has started to grow. Melkor hates her even though he has not met her before. Well. He hates everyone, obviously.

'What am I meeting her for,' he asks Mairon, who smiles at him in the familiar, pleasantly neutral manner as though he has not just spent hours destroying random semi-important papers with him.

'It would greatly benefit your public image if you were seen spending time with a well-liked, beautiful woman,' the assistant says. 'Not to mention, miss Tinúviel is likely going to try for the Silmaril project-'

'That's a fool's errand,' Melkor says firmly. 'Doriath doesn't offer half the quality Feanaro will demand for the Silmarils. He'll most likely go with Valinor, anyway, he's hardly adventurous enough to risk with a smaller developer. Listen, I see what you are trying to do,' he accuses, glaring at Mairon. He shakes his head. 'This is ridiculous. I will meet up with that girl, but that's it. We have more important things to focus on than Feanaro's ambitious plans. No, one more word about the damned Silmarils and you're fired,' he warns when he sees Mairon open his mouth.

As it turns out, miss Lúthien Tinúviel is breathtakingly beautiful in person, to such an extent that it makes Melkor feel a bit uncomfortable. He meets with her in the small family diner across the street from the office, which he used to frequent for the high quality coffee before Mairon came along. They have a table reservation in the secluded corner at the back courtesy of Mairon's impeccable planning. Thanks to this spot, the meeting could be passed for a date while still maintaining the professional air. Exactly what the assistant was aiming for.

'You are much less frightening in person than I expected, Mr. Bauglir,' says Lúthien with a sort of almost-shy laugh as she looks up at him, 'and of course, you're also incredibly handsome. Thank you for arranging this lunch date. I have been eager to meet you for the longest time!'

'Why, you are too kind,' Melkor replies. 'The pleasure is all mine. I am most grateful that you agreed to see me,' he lies easily. That, he can do perfectly. He can also be pretty smooth. If Mairon claims that flirting with this pretty young woman can somehow help Utumno, then damn it, he will flirt.

They place their orders with the waitress who comes up to their table and when she leaves, they fall into a surprisingly easy conversation. Lúthien is as smart as she is pretty, Melkor soon realizes. He finds it rather impressive when she refuses to stand down from the points she makes, even when he thinks her opinions are a too idealistic and completely opposite from his.

'The point you are trying to make is very cute and certainly honourable,' he agrees patiently when Lúthien is finished speaking, 'but you seem to forget, miss Tinúviel, that higher wages mean higher employment costs. For smaller companies it will mean that they either take an employee or pay the bills. Unless the employment cost is globally lowered, which I wouldn't expect because we live in a cruel world, it will no longer be cost-effective to employ on legal terms. Even corporations will more likely choose to take on temporary workers than give out permanent position contracts.'

'I think you see the future in a very dark light,' says Lúthien and frowns at him. The dark freckle just above her upper lip is a bit distracting when she speaks. It reminds Melkor somewhat of a certain somebody whose dark skin is littered with tiny freckles. 'Are you always so pessimistic, mister Bauglir?'

'Of course not,' Melkor says, 'there are many matters in which I'm outright optimistic! Take for example the development of the East. I think if there's a chance for profitable investments, it's in the eastern markets. There's great risks, of course, but only risky opportunities bring the really high profits.'

'Oh, I'm not sure if that is true,' Lúthien protests. 'After all, most of the business conducted by Valinor Enterprises is domestic and yet for the past several weeks the market index of the company is the highest it has ever been.'

'That's because Valinor Enterprises have had a successful streak of takeovers in the recent months,' replies Melkor firmly. 'Let's face the truth, miss Tinúviel: Valinor started out as a mediocre airline company for the poorer part of society. Only through merges and aggressive takeovers do they have the standing they have now.'

'Is it not all the more commendable?' Asks Lúthien.

'Utumno Limited has become just as big without one single takeover or merge. Whenever I saw a good opportunity, I took it. As opposed to mister Sulimo, I'm not afraid of resorting to novelty solutions. If not for that whole fiasco with Ungoliant,' Melkor pauses. 'Anyway, all I'm saying is that Valinor is a force to be reckoned with, yes, but in the end that giant might just prove to have feet of clay. It must be hard to try and be competition for everyone in everything. Such approach, it's bound to fail eventually. But at least their PR is solid.'

Lúthien laughs. 'You really don't like Valinor,' she notes with something akin to amusement.

Melkor nods. 'I'm afraid I have little reason to like them,' he admits. He wants to say more, but that is when their food arrives, so he concentrates on enjoying his meal. All the while, he cannot shake off the impression that he is being watched by a predator. It's a weird feeling.

Despite Mairon's prediction, their idle chatter never touches the subject of the Silmarils. To be honest, they say nothing of consequence throughout the whole lunch; they merely exchange some very general opinions on the industry and have a laugh or two at some more disastrous projects finalized by competition. It's a waste of time that could have been otherwise better used, but at least the food is good and the view is nice. Lúthien is very attractive for a woman and she knows how to use her looks to her advantage, even Melkor can see that. When some time later, he walks Lúthien to her office, they turn many heads.

Lúthien smiles and kisses his cheek before she disappears into her building. Tabloids write about their non-existent blossoming romance for weeks afterwards. Utumno Limited notes its first increase in the market since the Ungoliant fiasco.

Mairon doesn't offer a single comment even though it was all his plan to begin with. His polite indifference is all the more irritating.

 

*

 

There is a certain awkwardness to be experienced by two people who are little more than strangers when they get stuck together in a broken elevator. If they happen to be boss and subordinate, that awkwardness tends to multiply. Even more so if the circumstances surrounding the manner in which the employee got hired could hardly be considered protocol. Melkor thinks that this rule of the universe certainly applies in the situation he has just found himself in; it is the end of day on Friday, he should be heading home or clubbing, or anything. Instead he is stuck in the damn elevator which just stopped out of nowhere between levels twenty-three and twenty-two.

With Mairon.

He thinks he should try to start a conversation. The silence which stretches between them is worse than even the most stilted attempts at small talk could ever be and he is pretty sure Mairon is not going to speak first – talking to a superior without being asked would indicate bad manners or something ridiculous like that. The assistant has these little personality quirks which Melkor cannot wrap his mind around and those include adhering to random societal norms.

This man is almost a total stranger. Melkor knows nothing about what interests him, what he likes to eat, what music he listens to. He does know, however, that Mairon disapproves of personal cars, genuinely enjoys solving mathematical puzzles and cares precious little about politics as long as it has no influence over the global market. He also really likes destroying documents in the shredder when he can get away with it. Things like these are easy to pick up when working together. It comes naturally to ask someone's opinion in the office or to notice what someone is doing on lunch break.

The elevator, however, is not a comfort zone, especially not after hours. They already said good-bye to one another today. The awkwardness of sharing an elevator after bidding each other farewells is already unbearable. Now they are stuck in it with no common topics to talk about. Melkor thinks the world hates him.

He clears his throat.

'So... Any plans for the weekend?' He asks, or rather attempts to; the next thing he knows, he is being pushed and his back collides harshly with the elevator wall. His eyes widen and he wants to demand an explanation, but he is not given a chance to do so because Mairon kisses him. Hot lips cover his own, tearing a soft gasp of surprise out of him; Mairon uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, to push his tongue between Melkor's lips in bold exploration. Long fingers wrap around Melkor's wrists as if to prevent him from fighting back, but really, fighting is the last thing on his mind. With a low groan he responds to the kiss and enjoys the richness of Mairon's taste on his tongue: bitter-sweet like dark chocolate, somehow earthy and fiery at once. Mairon kisses like a starved man, he takes and takes, he licks Melkor's lips and bites them, and still he demands more. He allows one of Melkor's hands freedom only because he needs his own hand to fiddle with Melkor's belt. He ignores the soft sound of protest that escapes Melkor, and very soon Mairon's long calloused fingers wrap around Melkor's half-hard cock.

'What,' Melkor tries to ask, but Mairon is already dropping to his knees in front of him. The sight makes his mouth go dry and he takes a deep breath. 'Mairon,' he says, attempting to sound stern, 'you shouldn't-'

He bites down on his lower lip to stifle a moan when the younger man laps on the tip of his erection and gently sucks on it. The tentative caress is soon followed by bolder ones; Mairon begins to trail the shaft with his talented hot tongue, planting little kisses along the entire length before he seems to grow impatient. He licks his lips and, looking up at Melkor, he takes Melkor's cock into his mouth. He is much too skilled at this; he needs little time to adjust before he begins to suck in earnest, and as if he had no gag reflex, he takes him so deep and so good, so _fucking_ good-

It is over much too soon: Mairon hums around his mouthful and the vibration feels exquisite and all of a sudden, Melkor is coming in white hot waves of pure bliss; when the high passes, his belt is already fixed and Mairon is standing at the opposite wall, a look of polite indifference plastered on his face as though he hasn't just sucked off his boss in an elevator.

'You – you cannot keep doing that,' Melkor wants to say, because it's the truth, it really can't keep happening between them; despite having just had an orgasm, he's frustrated and confused, and he needs to know what this thing between them is and where it is going before he really loses his mind.

But he says nothing. The lights flicker briefly and the elevator moves. When the door opens on the ground floor, Mairon offers him a quick nod and leaves without another word.

 


End file.
